I don't hate you. I don't think I ever really did. It was just anger. And once I faced it head-on, once understood it, it dissipated. -Mia

It's nice, this. The canal." He looks at me. "You." "I'll bet you say that to all the canals.

I think everything is happening all the time, but if you don't put yourself in the path of it, you miss it.

You just work through it. You just hang in there.

I might have been eleven years old and a little socially immature, but I recognized a gauntlet being thrown down when I saw it, and I had no choice but to take it up.

Neither sleet nor rain nor a half inch of snow will compel me to dress like a lumberjack.

Even if you find him. Even if he didn't leave you on purpose, he can't possibly live up to the person you've built him into." It's not like the thought hasn't occurred to me. I get that the chances of finding him are small, but the chances of finding him as I remember him are even smaller. But I just keep going back to what my dad always says, about how when you lose something, you have to visualize the last place you had it. And I found―and then lost―so many things in Paris.